


Lights Burning Out

by StarTravel



Series: Defiance Through Tenderness [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Denial of Feelings, Garak Is Trying His Best, Julian Bashir Not Coping with The War, POV Elim Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarTravel/pseuds/StarTravel
Summary: As their time on the Defiant continues, Garak fears that optimistic literature and shared beds might not be enough to save the man he cares for from coming undone.





	Lights Burning Out

 It’s the early hours of the morning - or what passes for it on the Defiant - when Julian returns to their quarters, a hint of stubble across his cheeks and heavy circles under his eyes that were never there before last year. But then, Garak knows the emotional and physical effects of having one’s secrets revealed and of being held against one’s will better than almost anyone on this ship. That it might have permanently erased some of the light in those eyes or the boyishness of that smile, well. That’s in Julian’s best interest, even if it’s not in Garak’s. He’ll survive more easily now, even if a part of him was lost for the effort.

 Julian sits down on the bed next to where Garak lounges beneath their blankets, setting a tray on the end table Garak accosted for them from one of the planets they’ve stopped for supplies. There’s toast and something that looks vaguely like Cardassian oats on the tray, one cup of Rosaka juice and a mug of Tarkalean tea sitting side by side. There are no scones. There haven’t been for weeks. Julian gives him a brittle smile, gaze heavy with exhaustion. “Here, I brought us breakfast in bed.”

 “More dinner for you, though, isn’t it?” Garak asks with a forced cheer he doesn’t anywhere near feel. He’s a good liar, but happiness has never been one of the emotions he’s had to fake before. Certainly not for Julian of all people, who’d followed him and Miles around like an over-enthusiastic Vole for the first few years. None of that energy or joy exists in his gaze now.

 “It’s only dinner if you go to sleep afterwards. Lights to 80%.” Julian corrects him with a tight smile as he bends over, the harsh light of the Defiant highlighting the lean bones in his forearms and at his chest.

  Garak swears Julian has a gauntness that wasn’t there before, but Julian’s always been so thin that he can’t tell if it’s not just the weight of war giving that lithe body new angles and shadows Garak couldn’t see before. That, or the exhaustion Julian’s been under since they first stepped foot on this ship.

 Garak presses his eye ridges together, reaching an arm out to press a hand to Julian’s side. Julian stiffens under his touch, spine straightening as he seizes his tea from the end table. Garak lets out a small groan, pressing down more firmly on Julian’s hipbone. “Julian.”

 “Don’t make that face at me, Garak. I’m perfectly fine.” Julian mutters in a chiding voice, not even bothering to glance back to see what kind of face Garak’s making. Garak doesn’t let go of his hip, leaning past Julian to grab his oats from the plate. He takes a few bites, wrinkling his nose in mild disgust at the dryness and heavy flavors, utterly lacking the subtleties of real Cardassian food. Still, Garak supposes these Federation replicators can only do so much and it’s sweet of Julian to try. God knows it’s a good sign to see him trying at _something_ besides medicine.

 “You just got over the Terridian Flu, my dear. Some care with your health could be taken.” Garak pulls him a bit closer to him, and Julian’s shoulders relax just a hair. Garak wonders idly if he should offer a massage, though he’s a bit worried about the difference in pain tolerance between humans and Cardassians. Julian’s skins and bones are so much softer than his own, no scales or exo-skeleton to protect him. Garak swallows tightly at the thought and wonders if he could convince Captain Sisko to let him add a few layers of protective armor under their uniforms. God knows how they’d all survived this long without a fatal stab wound or phaser shot.

 “Not as long as we’re at war. Besides, they may need me on the bridge too.” Julian’s voice takes on a note of distress, body slumping against Garak’s arm. Garak holds him steady, massaging the sharp angle of his hip softly as he leans over to brush a kiss to his … to Julian’s cheek.

 “You sound so excited about that.” Garak’s voice is dry but he can’t hide the concern in his gaze as he gives Julian a once over. Julian’s body grows stiff again, as though he’s slowly becoming petrified from the weight of being on the bridge day in and day out. So different from the young man with stars in his eyes and dreams of “frontier” medicine, whatever _that_ meant.

 Julian lets out a harsh scoff, gaze far away and clouded in a way that’s become more and more common over the past few weeks. Garak pulls him closer to him, nails digging into his side through his uniform. Julian makes no sign that he feels anything, body sliding back like a sack of tribbles. Julian’s voice is empty when he speaks again. “It’s - it is what it is.”

 Garak can feel the hint of a tremble in the doctor’s shoulders, though he can’t tell if it’s from emotion or fatigue. He, maybe selfishly, hopes it’s the first. He worries about how war has started to alter his friend. He wraps an arm around Julian’s waist, frowning at the toast that sits untouched. “My dear doctor?”

 “You can hardly call me that anymore, can you?” There’s a trace of emotion in Julian’s voice this time, a self-recrimination that matches the tremor running down his spine. Emotion it is then. Garak’s just not sure where it comes from, Julian’s words hanging in the air between them and leading to no clear answers. The end of their first almost hadn’t come with any ill feelings, least of all for _Julian_ , who was the one who started avoiding Garak once he learned things about both of them he’d rather not know.

 And either way, that brittle not-friendship they’ve shared over the past year has thawed back into a warmth that may be even more precious than their early friendship. At least for now anyway, in the safe cocoon of their quarters. But maybe Julian’s decided to abruptly pull away again or - Garak swallows, voice just a touch tentative. “Dear? I believe most people would consider that appropriate, given our current circumstances.”

 “Whatever those are.” Julian lets out a rueful laugh, gaze flickering over to Garak as he bites his lip. If Julian were in a less … fragile mood, Garak would point out that he’s been far more clear in his intentions than Julian, even by human standards. instead he merely sits up a bit more, raising an eye ridge and tilting his head to the right. Julian mimics him after a moment. “But no, not that. Doctor.”

 Garak stills at that, possibilities already flickering across his mind. He knows that they took on several injured people from the Alexander yesterday, far too many for the scant medical crew they have on the Defiant. Still, as tired as he is, Garak can’t imagine Julian making large enough mistakes to be disbarred.

 Could Starfleet have changed their mind about his commission? He’s heard the rumors of course, that Julian will never be promoted, never be allowed a position outside of DS9 or similarly far flung bases, that he might even lose his commission the moment the war comes to a close. But Garak can’t imagine Starfleet giving away as an asset like Julian _during_ the war. “Julian?”

 “I can hardly call myself by that noble profession anymore, can I?” Julian’s voice has more of that self-abasement from before, smirk like a knife slicing away at his formerly impetreneble ego. Garak wonders if it’s a human trait or unique to Julian to love and hate oneself in such equal measures. Julian raises an eyebrow, smirk morphing into a snarl as disgust finally comes into his voice. “God knows I’ve probably taken as many lives as I’ve saved at this point.”

 Of course. That’s what this is about, why Julian fears being called to the bridge. They mostly have him on comms, but there have been more than enough times he’s had to shoot at some unknown Jem Hadar ship or held a phaser in a Vorta’s face. It’s no surprise that Julian wouldn’t be able to compartmentalize his actions as a soldier from his vows as a doctor or self-image as an augment. Garak slides one arm up Julian’s back, the other still tight around his waist. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

 “Not if you include everyone who died of the Teplan Blight.” Julian corrects him curtly, turning to the side so he’s no longer looking Garak in the eye. Instead he stares off into the empty space visible through their porthole, stars and planets distant and far away. Julian’s not blinking nearly enough and Garak can almost see all the bodies flicking across his gaze. Fuck.

 “How long is this specific bit of self-pity going to last, Julian?” Garak asks before he can stop himself, voice just a touch too clipped, too harsh to bring his doctor any comfort. If Julian were truly Cardassian, he’d recognize that tone for the affectionate concern it is. But sadly he’s only very close, so Julian shifts away from him with a caged expression.

 “I don’t know, Garak. Probably the same amount of time you spend being dismissive of everyone’s suffering except your own and Cardassia’s.” Julian’s voice drips with disdain and venom, eyes flashing and reminding Garak so painfully of himself a few years ago. Garak feels a thread of hurt run through him at the accusation, but he’s not sure he can blame Julian for thinking this was all some kind of ridiculously long con. It probably was, back at the start.

 But he knows from the desperation in Julian’s gaze, the sweet plea for suffering, that’s not the problem here. No, Julian is lashing out, seeking punishment that Garak refuses to give. Not to him. Instead he presses his arms around Julian’s back, mouth soft where he presses it along his jaw. “Trust me, Julian, you don’t need to push away what few friends you have left.”

 “Did you learn that before or after you gave up on sentiment? Maybe at the same time?” Julian asks in a weak imitation of Garak’s own harshness, hands trembling where they come to lie against his forearm. Still, it’s closer than Garak would like, a hardness to Julian that seems to thicken with each passing day.

 Sometimes Garak wonders if the ridiculous man he fell in love with and tried to mold still exists within that shell at all, or if he’s just wasting his time with a specter. Only time will tell.

 “Maybe I learned it when you shot me.” Garak answers in a lilting voice, raising his eye ridges in unison with just a hint of a smile. A few months ago, that would have gotten him a heavy eye roll with more affection than the doctor would admit to out loud. Now it just gets him a blank stare, gaze still filled with bodies in the shape of stars. Garak lets out a low sigh, reaching past Julian to their night stand drawer. “Here, I think you need these more than me right now, _doctor_.”

 Julian glances down at the package in his lap, eyes finally widening with something besides horror as he takes it in. Garak’s smile grows a bit more genuine as Julian lifts the Delvian chocolates up in the air, examining the wrapping like he expects there to be some kind of trick. “You kept these? Why? They can’t be good anymore.”

 “I’ve kept everything you’ve ever gave me.” It’s more than Garak means to admit, voice barely above a whisper. Garak swallows softly, pressing his hands against the edge of the bed as he waits for the condemnation or disbelief. He’s not entirely sure which would be worse; for Julian to hate him or for Julian to still think Garak feels nothing for him beyond idle curiosity.

 “You’re such a romantic, Elim.” Julian twists around to stare at him, a hint of delight and sheepishness in his smile. Just enough to remind Garak of the Julian he first met, but not enough to lessen his fears that said man might be gone for good.

 “Me? I think most people would accuse you of that, my dear.” Garak keeps his voice light and teasing, not letting his own fears show on his face and betray his concerns. All that will do is drive away what few vestiges of the man he knows that are left. Garak can’t have that, not when Julian looks up at him with something akin to awe in his gaze, as though he thinks Garak is special or important or - but no. He won’t go down that road. Not again.

 “No, I’m an idealist, and an ungrateful one at that.” Julian tells him and it takes Garak a second to realize that awe hasn’t gone away, nor has the hint of affection in Julian’s smile. If anything it’s only deepened alongside the sheepishness, Julian twisting around so he ends up half in Garak’s lap. Julian’s gaze grows more open, more vulnerable and Garak feels his heart clench in the strangest way. “I’m sorry, Elim. I know you’re not-”

 “You are a doctor, Julian. But right now you’re also a soldier, and the skills that make you good at either are in conflict.” Garak cuts him off before Julian can say something about the state of their relationship neither of them can take back. It’s far too soon for that. Instead he tells the truth as kindly as possible, one hand brushing through Julian’s hair while the other clamps down against his waist.

  Garak’s not used to being the caretaker in their friendship anymore than Julian’s used to needing care, but it seems the war doesn’t care about what they’re used to. Julian suddenly collapses half against him and half on the bed, the circles under his eyes seemingly growing deeper with each passing second.  “So what do you suggest?”

 “That you stay here with me and try to get some rest before your next shift.” Garak’s voice is little more than a whisper, hands holding Julian firm until he feels his pulse slow and his breath even out. Then Garak pulls back just enough to stare down at Julian, face smooth and unstressed in his sleep, lips holding a hint of a smile.


End file.
